


'Till you fall apart at the seams

by Shapeshifter99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapeshifter99/pseuds/Shapeshifter99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abaddon is finally dead, but Castiel fears that the cost is too high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till you fall apart at the seams

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much how I want the Mark of Cain problem fixed XD

It’s more relieving than Castiel would have thought to see Abaddon finally struck down. The dark, swirling demon essence inside the innocent body of a young woman fading into nothing when Dean comes up from behind her and stabs the last Knight of Hell. Her eyes widen. A choking sound emerges from her throat, and her entire body flashes with red light. Then she falls, dead.

Castiel lets out a groan and slumps against the wall, breathing hard. The fight took more out of him than he thought it would, and his stolen grace is burning him from the inside out, charring his core. He still hasn’t told the Winchesters about it... About what Metatron told him. They had too much on their plate.

“Cas?” Sam calls out from the other end of the room, his voice wavering and worried. “You okay?”

With great effort, the angel lifts his head. “Fine. I’m... I’m fine.” He says slowly, leaning heavily against the wall as he gets to his feat. “Dean?”

When his query is greeted with silence, Cas feels his insides freeze just a little bit, calming the raging storm of grace inside him. Sam strides over to him, his blood-splattered face creased with worry, and hauls him up further.

Cas ineffectually pushes at Sam. “Dean?” He asks again, his voice quiet and raspy.

Sam’s expression turns frightened, and he glances back. Cas lifts himself up and strains to see over the giant man’s shoulder. When he finally does, he stops, dead still as he stares in horror.

“I-I don’t know what to do!” Sam says helplessly. “The last time I tried to snap him out of it, I barely managed to make him let go. And now...”

Cas still stares. Dean is standing over Abaddon’s body, tensed and made out of the hard lines of someone battle-worn and still ready to fight. His face is a stony mask, what Castiel would have called composed if he hadn’t known that his best friend’s personality was being wiped away like chalk on a board with every second that passed. The hunter’s hand is still clutching the First Blade, trembling greatly, and Cas can see the taint of the Mark of Cain as it creeps up Dean’s arm and into his soul. What’s the most frightening, however, is the complete and total blankness of his eyes, the forest green irises dim and his pupils blown up wide.

“No...” He gasps, finding the strength to stand up straight. “We have to-”

“Stay here!” Sam orders, releasing his strong grip on the angel and striding back towards his brother. As he walks closer, the younger Winchester’s soul blurs and melts into a gentleness that Castiel has seen often, the kind that siblings have for each other when everything goes wrong.

“Dean?” Sam says cautiously, still moving towards his brother slowly. “Dean, it’s over now. You can put down the Blade. We can find a way to get rid of the Mark too, if that’s what you need.”

Dean’s eyes flicker upwards, focus with intensity on Sam. Cas feels a shiver run down his spine at how horribly blank they look. “Sam.” He croaks out in warning, but he’s ignored.

“Dean.” Sam repeats. “Come on. Let go of it. It’s over.”

For one heart-stopping moment, Castiel thinks he sees a flicker of recognition in Dean’s eyes. He lets out the tiniest sigh of relief, and that’s when the hunter strikes. In one flash of movement, Dean’s fist snaps forward, into Sam’s face. The younger Winchester’s head snaps back, and Castiel lets out a surprised shout, stepping forward only to fall to his knees as his grace gives another angry flare.

Sam stumbles backwards a few steps, but still seems to be fine. His hazel eyes narrow at Dean, who’s advancing towards him with the same deadly look on his face. Another flash of cold and hot burns through Castiel’s body, his fear and grace warring against each other.

“Sam!” The angel cries out. “Get back!”

Those words are the wrong thing to say. The Winchester’s eyes slide over to him for the briefest second, no longer looking at his older brother. Dean lunges forward again, slashing the First Blade across Sam’s chest. Cas knows well enough that it’s another warning strike; the wound is shallow, and barely bleeding, but before Sam can react, Dean punches him in the face again, then promptly knocks him out by slamming the hilt of the Blade against his shaggy head.

Sam drops with a small grunt and lies crumpled and unconscious on the floor. Dean stares down at the hunter, his face still impassive, and it’s only then that Castiel knows he has to do something. He struggles to his feet, panic flaring open and wide in his chest, stronger than the icy wash of fear, stronger than the deep, acidic burn of his grace, and stumbles over to Dean.

“Dean!” He snaps out, his voice rendered harsh and unforgiving.

The hunter’s gaze immediately snaps to his, and the bottomless pit of Dean’s green eyes start to smolder with evil and fury. Cas makes an effort to gentle his tone, and raises his hand in supplication.

“Dean.” He soothes. “Dean, it’s me. It’s Cas. Your friend.” _Your best friend. Your guardian. Your constant. **Your** angel._

He doesn't say those last few.

Dean’s gaze still remains blank except for the fury in his eyes, but Castiel notices that the tremor in his arm and hand becomes stronger, until he thinks it’s a wonder that Dean hasn’t let it go yet. But he tries again anyway.

“I know that it’s been difficult.” He continues, walking forward another hesitant step, wincing when the grace burns him. “I know that right now, you’re finding it impossible to find the urge to let it go.”

Dean stares at him, his unforgiving expression threatening to make Castiel’s false calm crack with pain. He swallows hard, and he watches as Dean’s face turns slightly hungry as his Adam’s apple bobs. Hungry with the urge to kill.

“But listen to me.” Castiel says, finally managing to find his voice. “This isn’t you. The Mark of Cain is corrupting you, changing your soul into something darker. If you were in your right mind, if you would just let go of the Blade, you would see that.”

There’s still no reaction, and the angel doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He takes another tentative step, the scrape of his shoe against the cement floor incredibly loud in the silent warehouse.

In retrospect, this was probably what provoked Dean into attacking him.

The hunter lunges forward, mirroring what he did earlier with Sam. Cas doesn’t fight him, allows the fist to connect with his jaw and bring him to his knees. In the aftermath of the blow, Castiel is dazedly reminded of when he did the same to Dean, when he was being mind-controlled by Naomi.

“Dean!” He says, spitting out blood before he stares up into the hunter’s face desperately. “Listen to me!”

_Thwack._

Another blow, this time to his eye. His head jerks back, and pain explodes in his face, but in a half-blind stupor he reaches out, yearning to touch Dean, to let him know that he’s there. He comes across nothing, and instead starts talking again as his vision becomes clear again as his grace burns out a little more to keep him healthy.

“I know you’re in there!” Castiel gasps out, blue eyes seeking green. “I know that some part of you, no matter how small, can hear me speaking to you.”

_Thwack._

This punch is hard enough to make him fall to the ground, heaving for breath. From the ground, he continues to talk desperately, his entire body screaming at him to get through to Dean.

“I know... That I haven’t been there enough.” He manages to say, his face pressed against the cold stone. “I know that I should have been there for you more. But you kept insisting that you didn’t need me, that I needed to go take care of my flock. And I thought that was what you wanted, and I didn’t think about what you _needed_.”

There’s a hand grabbing at his jacket, hauling him into the same position as before. Dean’s expression is stony and grim except for the flare of evil behind his eyes, and Cas feels a great helplessness descend upon him. His body goes slack, forcing Dean to hold him straight, and he feels the beginnings of frustrated tears at the corner of his eyes. He can almost imagine Metatron laughing his ass off in the distance, rendered hysterical at the thought of Castiel being beaten to the death by the man he trusts most in the universe.

“Do you remember the crypt?” He whispers, staring at a point past Dean’s shoulder at the ceiling. “When I was still under Naomi’s control?”

He gets a kick in the stomach, but barely reacts, his despair too strong to do anything but keep him down. But he needs to get this out, he needs to tell Dean before he dies.

“I was so ashamed, afterwards.” He says, one hand reaching up to grip at the forearm of the hand that’s holding him up. “So horrified at what I’d done, to you, of all people.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “But what you said, back there. What you told me when you thought I was going to kill you, that we were family, that you needed me.”

Dean slams the hilt of the First Blade against his head like he did with Sam, but Cas fights to stay conscious, and his grip on Dean’s arm becomes more insistent. “It kept me going.” He says, his blue gaze finally settling on Dean’s face. “Even know, I only have to think of that moment, and I know I need to keep fighting. But something that’s been itching at me, crawling through my insides since then, is that I never told you I needed you too.”

He closes his eyes briefly, expecting another blow, but it never comes. Cas’ eyes crack open, his eyelashes unsurprisingly wet with tears both of pain and grief. Dean’s face is still impassive, but Cas feels a sudden flare of hope, so sudden and jarring that he keeps talking, his quiet voice growing slightly louder with strength.

“I need you, Dean. More than I’ve ever needed anyone else.” His voice is as tender as the thumb stroking over the hunter’s sleeve. “I didn’t realize it, but now, my actions are just proof of how much it’s true. I fell for you, Dean. I’ve never regretted one second. And it makes me proud to think that I was the one who saved you, who dragged you out of Hell all those years ago.”

Still, Dean doesn’t react, but Cas is too caught up with the raging emotions inside him to notice. “I’m only sorry that I didn’t get to tell you any of this earlier.” He says, trying to fight back the conflict in him. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me to be. But now...” He takes in a deep breath. “Now that I’ve told you this, I can die happy.”

“I love you, Dean Winchester.” He says, and he means every single word. “And I’m so glad that I met you.”

He closes his eyes then, content, and waits the inevitable final stroke that he knows will come. He knows it will, eventually. The Mark of Cain won’t hesitate to take this kind of offering as a kill. But his heart continues to beat, and with each thud, Castiel feels doubt creep in. He’s just about to open his eyes, to see what Dean’s doing now, when a stricken, horrified voice breathes out, “Cas?”

He knows that voice. He loves that voice.

The angel’s eyes snap open, wide and shocked. Dean is still standing above him, hand gripping his clothes, but his face is completely different. Instead of the steady blankness from before, Dean’s expression is terrified, sickened.

It’s _his_ Dean.

“Dean.” Cas practically whimpers in relief, his heart exploding with joy, the flaming inferno of his hope eclipsing the agony of his dying grace. “Dean.”

The hunter stays frozen, and Cas reaches up with his other hand to grasp the fist he’s made around the first blade. He can feel the minute trembling, and he looks up, staring Dean straight in the eye.

“Dean.” He repeats, but forces the naked relief out of his voice, making it firm and strong. “Dean. It’s okay. Drop the blade.”

Dean’s eyes are still horrified, but Cas can feel his tight grip on the weapon loosen, more and more until the First Blade tumbles out of his hand and clatters against the floor. Cas lets out a relieved whoosh of breath, his hand inadvertently tightening around Dean’s for a heartbeat before the pain of his wounds and his grace make him start to slump.

The movement seems to snap Dean out of his stillness, and he’s releasing Castiel with a horrified noise before leaning down and reaching towards him with an anguished, “Cas.”

“It’s okay.” Cas tries to reassure him, relief coloring his voice. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Dean’s hand brushes against his face, and the angel tries to stop the wince it provokes, but he knows Dean sees it by the way he freezes again.

“Oh my God.” Dean says, his voice shattered. “Cas, _Cas_.”

The angel reaches up and cradles his hunter’s face in his hands, feeling his own broken sound torn from his throat when he feels the warm skin against his fingers. “Dean.” He breathes, his thumbs moving over Dean’s cheekbones. “You’re here.”

Dean lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” He says, his eyes filled with desperation as they trace over Castiel’s bloodied form.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The angel says in a rough voice, leaning closer so he can rest his forehead against Dean’s. “I thought that-” His next breath is ragged.

“Never.” Dean says with sudden ferocity. “You won’t lose me, Cas. Never.” He finally dares to touch Castiel, his hands suddenly stroking over his arms and shoulder and neck to cradle the back of his head. His eyes close for a moment, and he breathes harshly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Cas mumbles, his nose brushing against Dean’s cheek. “You did it to kill Abaddon.”

“But I almost-” Dean swallows hard.

“Not your fault.” Cas repeats, his voice sharp. “You came back. You dropped the blade. That’s all that matters.”

Dean’s fingers twine in his hair. “Only because you brought me back.” He admits softly, pressing his forehead harder against Cas’. “Not even Sam could.”

One of Castiel’s hands slides down the hunter’s face to his chest, revelling in the strong heartbeat he finds there. “You did the same for me.”

Dean is quiet for a moment, and the only sound is the soft tandem of their breaths. “Did you mean it?” He finally asks.

Cas pulls back slightly, the hand on Dean’s chest going to the back of his neck. “Mean what?”

Dean bites his lip, a human gesture that makes Cas soften even further. “What you said.” He says, voice hushed. “When I was- Before.”

The angel strokes his thumb across Dean’s cheek. “Yes.” He says resolutely. “I need you too, Dean Winchester.” He pauses, his voice turning quieter, suddenly uncertain. “I love you.”

At his words, Dean lets out a shuddering breath and pulls Cas closer towards him in an embrace. Cas presses his nose against the hunter’s neck and breathes shallowly, comforted by the scent of leather and woods and Dean. The hunter doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to. Castiel can see it in the way he holds him, as if he’ll never let go. To be honest, it doesn’t seem like a bad way to go.

The burning of his stolen grace quells and quiets slightly, and Cas is reminded of how he’ll burn out, how he might actually ‘go’, so to speak. But he knows how to fix it.

_Become human._

But that’s for another time. “Never do that again.” Cas says instead, a parody of what Dean asked of him when the angel was brought back from the dead.

Dean’s arms tighten around him. “Never.” He promises, and Cas believes him.


End file.
